Strange Things Done
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Entry for the At Your Service challenge on the NFA. Tim and his father, Sam McGee, take a long weekend to reconnect, but things don't go as they'd planned. Seven chapters and an epilogue. One chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is my entry in the NFA At Your Service Challenge. We were to take a poem by Robert Service and use it as inspiration for our story. As soon as I read it, I _had_ to enter, using my personal fanon for Tim's family, i.e. Sam and Naomi McGee. If you're not familiar with Robert Service's poems, there's one called "The Cremation of Sam McGee". ...but there's no cremation in this story. :) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own NCIS, Robert Service's poetry or the briefly quoted lyrics from a couple of pop songs. I am not making any money off this story.

* * *

**Strange Things Done  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

_There are strange things done in the midnight sun  
__By the men who moil for gold;  
__The Arctic trails have their secret tales  
__That would make your blood run cold;  
__The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,  
__But the queerest they ever did see  
__Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge  
__I cremated Sam McGee._

**Chapter 1**

"So...you have a long weekend off and you're spending it with your dad?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Tim said. "It was his idea, and it's been a long time since we just...hung out together. It should be fun."

"You don't sound very convincing, Probie."

Tim grimaced.

"Where are you going?" Ziva asked.

"West Virginia. There's this company that rents out cabins in the middle of nowhere. No internet. No phones. No computers. Just you and the wilderness. ...well, almost. The cabins looked nice in the brochure my dad sent me. It's supposed to be a way to unplug and reconnect. Dad thought it would be a fun way to spend a weekend. How could I say no?"

"And if you're being honest?"

Tim sighed.

"It's going to be a little weird. Only a little, but it's not what I would have expected from my dad when he told me he wanted to spend some time with me."

"It's early in the year to be hanging out in the mountains, isn't it?"

"A little, but the cabins are heated. Thank goodness, and there hasn't been any snow for weeks."

"Not here," Ziva said, "but the mountains could be very different."

"It'll be fine. I'm not worried about the snow," Tim said.

"You'd be happy if there was a blizzard, wouldn't you, Probie," Tony said with a grin. "Then, you could use that as an excuse not to go."

"Yeah, I guess. Don't tell my dad when they get here."

"They're coming here?"

"Yeah. Mom is driving Dad down and I took my car in for some work to make sure it wasn't going to break down on the way over. Dad decided he wanted to see me in my element before he dragged me out of it. His words."

Ziva and Tony both laughed at Tim's obvious ambivalence but toned it down when Gibbs came striding in as he always did.

"Boss, I'm really going to be unreachable this weekend," Tim said. "I don't have any choice. Cell phones don't work out there. There's no internet. It's supposed to be a complete cutoff from the outside world."

"No sat phone, McGee?" Tony asked.

"No...but don't think I haven't considered smuggling one in." He looked back at Gibbs. "I'm sorry, Boss, but..."

"Where are you going to be?"

"West Virginia mountains. I have the brochure."

Gibbs held out his hand for it.

"Anyone else know where you'll be?"

"Yeah. My mom does. She has all the information and she wanted me to call her as soon as we headed back to civilization on Monday."

Gibbs looked at the brochure, looked at Tim...and then, smiled slightly.

"Have fun."

"Thanks, Boss," Tim said and then sat down to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam and Naomi McGee came into the bullpen at around six that evening. Tim saw them get off the elevator and got up quickly.

"Hey, Mom, Dad. Let's go."

"What's your hurry, McGee?" Tony asked with a mischievous grin. "Do you not want us talking to your family?"

Before Tim could hustle Sam and Naomi back to the elevator, Tony dodged around him.

"Hey, I'm Tony. I didn't think Tim was embarrassed about his parents." He shook hands with both of them.

"I'm not, Tony...not about _them_."

"Oh, wounded me to the core, Probie."

Tim rolled his eyes.

"Mom, Dad. This is Tony. That's Ziva. This is my boss, Jethro Gibbs."

Sam wheeled himself over to each person and shook hands.

"I'm Sam McGee, former Navy man turned lit professor extraordinaire!"

"...and Winston Churchill obsessed," Naomi added. "You can't forget that. I'm Naomi. Mother of two."

"And almost a lawyer who would have taken the mob to task if necessary," Sam added with a winning smile at his wife.

"Man, McGee. Your parents are _fun_. What happened to _you_?"

"I met you, Tony," Tim said. "Can we go now?"

"In a rush, Tim?" Sam asked. "Eager to get started?"

"I'm afraid you'll start telling embarrassing stories if I leave you here any longer."

"Hey, can I ask what might be an insensitive question?" Tony asked.

"Sure," Sam said.

"Are you planning on..._camping_?"

"Oh, you mean because I'm in a wheelchair?"

"Well, it's not my experience that the wilderness is wheelchair accessible."

Sam chuckled. "No, it's not. The cabin, however, is, and there should be plenty to do and see in the range that I can travel. If not...well, I'll just get Tim to drag me along."

"I'll remember that, Dad. Now, can we go?"

"Sure."

Tim looked at Gibbs.

"See you next week, Boss. I hope nothing breaks while I'm out of contact."

Naomi chuckled and took Tim by the arm.

"Come on, Tim. You'd think you weren't _excited_ about unplugging from the world for a while."

Tim flushed slightly.

"It's not that, Mom."

He cleared his throat.

"Please, let's go," he said.

Sam laughed.

"Let's spare Tim any further embarrassment, Naomi. You know, Nietzsche said that 'one begins to mistrust very clever people when they become embarrassed.' We don't want our son to become untrustworthy to any of his coworkers."

"Thank you," Tim said. "See you guys next week."

"Have fun," Ziva said.

"He'll try," Sam said with a smile. "He might even succeed. ...but _I'll_ have fun."

Tim grabbed the back of Sam's wheelchair and started pulling him to the elevator.

"We're going."

Sam waved as he was pulled backward away from the bullpen. Tim knew that his dad was enjoying himself and that he had wanted to meet Tim's coworkers. It was just that, sometimes, he would rather that his father not milk the situation so much.

They got on the elevator and headed down.

"They seem like good people, Tim."

"They are, Mom. I wouldn't have stayed here otherwise."

"Good. Are you ready for the weekend?"

"And if I wasn't?" Tim asked with a smile.

"I'd say that you'd better _get_ ready because my deposit is nonrefundable," Sam said.

"I'm ready."

"Are you ready to drive?" Naomi asked. "It's a few hours out to that cabin, and it'll be dark by the time you get there."

"I'll be fine, Mom. I've driven long distances before."

"Stop worrying, Naomi," Sam said. "I'm in capable hands, _and_ this will be a blast. Don't let yourself stress about it."

"You just be sure that you call as soon as you get back in civilization on Monday, all right? There's a possibility of some snow up there if it gets as cold as they're saying and I don't want you two to slide off the road or anything."

"Stop fussing, dear. You sound like the proverbial mother hen."

"That's what I am and it's my prerogative. You two be careful out there."

"I'll be careful and Dad will keep me awake."

"Good."

They headed out of NCIS to get Tim and Sam on their way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim had been driving for about an hour and a half, letting Sam pick the music on the radio. Suddenly, he switched it to an 80s and 90s station.

"Dad, you're not listening to this stuff, are you?"

"What do _you_ think?" Sam challenged.

"Come on! You're into classic literature and you're listening to _this_?"

Sam laughed. "You know these songs, too, Tim. Don't even try to deny it. In fact, I'm going to start singing along and you can feel free to join me. You couldn't have avoided hearing this song if you went out in public at all."

"Don't start singing, Dad," Tim groaned.

"_I wanna stand with you on a mountain.  
__I wanna bathe with you in the sea."_

"No! Please, stop!" Tim said in mock horror.

"Give in, Tim. Sing along!"

Tim would have closed his eyes, but he was driving.

"Soon enough we'll be in an area where we won't have any radio reception anyway. Might as well enjoy it while we can. Sing!"

The second verse began and Tim caved.

"_And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky  
__I'll make a wish, send it to heaven and make you want to cry..."_

Sam joined in and they sang out the cheesy love song. Tim would deny it in any other situation, but it was kind of fun.

"You know, I was just thinking, if there's a break in the trees, we can go stargazing," Sam said after the song ended.

"I haven't done that in a long time," Tim said. "If we're out far enough in the middle of nowhere, it should be perfect. ...if we can get away from the trees."

Sam smiled.

Another song came on and they sang along again. After about another thirty minutes, the radio started filling with static, and they gave up trying to get good reception. The radio went off.

"Can I ask you something, Dad?"

"Sure."

"Why did you want to do this? I mean, I really don't mind. It could be really fun...but...it seemed kind of...out of the blue and a little strange."

"A few reasons. First, you need a vacation and I don't think you'd have taken it without me forcing you to."

"I'm not under that much pressure."

"Yes, you are...and based on what you said, your entire team probably needs a vacation. Regardless, I can help you. Second, we haven't had a chance to spend time together for a long time. That's something we need to fix. Third, we both need to unplug...you more than me."

Tim couldn't deny that.

"And fourth..." He paused.

"No, Dad. There's no fourth. I know what you're going to say and it's not necessary. We're fine."

"So you don't have any lingering problems with the fact that I'm paralyzed and that it happened in an accident where you were driving?"

"I'm never going to be happy about it, Dad. I'll always regret it. ...but I'm not going to fall apart about it anymore."

"I just want you to stop thinking about how it happened and let it fall to the side. Quevedo said, 'he who spends time regretting the past loses the present and risks the future.' It's important to accept what happened and not keep dwelling on it."

"You're the one who brought it up, you know. Not me."

Sam chuckled.

"Point taken. It's something we've both been avoiding, though. And you know it."

"Well, now that we've talked about it and determined that it's okay...what else will we talk about this weekend?"

"I think we'll find something. For one thing, we can get down to a very nice lake that's near the cabin...and go fishing!"

Tim thought about it.

"I might be okay with that, Dad."

"Good. Just get us there, then."

Tim chuckled.

"All right. I'll do my best."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As they neared their final destination, the road became narrower. The trees became thicker, and it was easy to feel like they were the only people in the world.

"Are you sure we're on the right road, Dad?"

"As sure as I can be, given that it's dark. There are trees everywhere...and I've never been here before."

Tim laughed, but he was starting to get tired. It was almost ten and he'd been up since before six that morning. He yawned.

"Don't fall asleep, Tim."

"I don't plan on it."

"Good."

The road was no longer paved.

"Dad. Are you sure this is where we should be?"

"Stop asking that, Tim. Be patient. We'll get there."

Ten minutes later, Sam was proven correct. The trees opened up slightly, revealing a small cabin.

"This is it!"

"It better be," Tim said. "Because if we're wrong, we could be walking in on someone."

"Have faith in your father, Tim."

"I'm working on it."

Tim parked the car by the door and noticed that there was a ramp. He put the key into the lock and turned it. It clicked. So they _were_ in the right place. He opened the door and flicked on the light. There were two beds (thank goodness), a kitchen area, a large fireplace, and a door leading to a bathroom. Nothing amazing, but it looked livable for the weekend.

"Is it safe?" Sam asked. He'd got his wheelchair out and rolled over.

"Looks fine. Not luxurious by any means, but we don't have to share a bed...and our source of heat is a wood fireplace."

"Excellent. Is there wood or do we have to chop it ourselves?"

Tim scouted around the house and found a large wood pile. He got a load and lugged it inside. They got everything inside.

"It's kind of chilly in here, Tim," Sam said. "I think a fire would be nice tonight."

"Okay."

Sam being cold meant more than it meant for most people. His circulation wasn't very good and he could overheat or get too cold much more easily than others could. Once, he'd almost got frostbite on his feet just from being outside for too long and not being able to feel the colder air.

Starting the fire took a few tries, but they had a cheery flame going after a few minutes, and it was putting out a nice amount of heat. They got everything organized, figured out who got which bed (Sam got the one closest to the fire), took turns in bathroom, and then decided to go to bed.

The weekend was starting out well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sam woke up as soon as sunlight came in through the windows at the back of the cabin. He sat up and looked at the other bed. Tim was out like a light, snoring a little bit and drooling on the pillow. Sam smiled. Tim really did need the vacation, and he was glad that he could force him to take it.

As he sat where he was, he noticed the chill in the air. It was cold. He looked at the fireplace and saw that the fire was basically dead. Well, Tim might be fine with that, but Sam knew that his body wasn't. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and quietly transferred himself into his chair.

Tim didn't even stir. Good.

Sam rolled over to the fireplace, put the brakes on his chair and leaned forward to pick up some wood.

Nope. Not going to work. He would have to lean too far to maintain his balance. He carefully lowered himself from the chair to the floor and built up the wood. Then, he took the lighter and got the fire going again. He stayed where he was for a few minutes, wanting to absorb some of the heat.

He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to do anything even remotely _resembling_ camping. He was really glad that he'd found this company. There weren't too many places out in the wilderness that could claim to be wheelchair accessible. That someone had decided to do this was wonderful for him. Right near a lake, in the wilderness, isolated, no technology beyond electricity. All in all, Sam couldn't have asked for more.

...except maybe a little bit more heat. He put another log on the fire.

After about half an hour on the floor in front of the fire, he'd warmed up enough that he decided to pull himself back into his chair and see about making breakfast. Tim still hadn't moved an inch.

The cupboards were fully stocked which was great. Knowing Tim was one of those coffee addicts, he started that going first and then decided to make use of the waffle mix and the old waffle iron. It wasn't fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but it reminded him of the waffle iron he had grown up with. Ah, nostalgia.

After he got the waffle batter mixed up and Tim still wasn't stirring, he decided that he'd better make sure his son hadn't died in the night.

"Tim, are you going to sleep the day away?"

There was a mumble. Sam chuckled.

"Wake up, son. The day is half over."

"I'm on vacation, Dad. I have the right to sleep in."

"Yes, you do, but you're not spending our whole vacation in that bed."

"What time is it?"

"Getting close to nine."

Tim sat up, yawning widely. He stretched and stared out the window.

"I'm hardly sleeping the day away, then. Do I smell coffee?"

"Yes, you do. Feed your addiction and wake up."

"Addiction," Tim grumbled as he got up. "Lots of people drink coffee."

"Lots of people are addicts. Don't deny it, Tim."

Tim stuck out his tongue and then searched for the mugs. He found one and poured himself a cup. He didn't say anything until he'd drunk half of it. Sam just smiled and checked on the waffles.

"We're having waffles?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Did you build the fire?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"I sat on the floor, Tim. What do you think?"

Tim yawned again. "Anything I can do to help out?"

"Set the table and find the syrup. We can warm it up on the stove so it doesn't cool down the waffles."

"Sure, okay."

Tim put his coffee down and got plates, utensils and glasses to set out on the little table. They were quiet at first because they hadn't spent this much time together in years. Sam knew that they'd both find things to say as the day went on, but he wasn't surprised that they were starting off with less to say.

Tim stumbled into the bathroom, acting like a zombie. Sam just laughed and focused on the waffles. He'd made six waffles when Tim came out, looking more alert.

"Okay, Dad. I'm ready for breakfast."

"Good. Take these over to the table. Do you think you'll want more?"

Tim laughed. "I doubt it. I usually just have cereal."

"Shaped like dinosaurs?" Sam asked with a grin.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Tim stuck his tongue out at his father yet again.

"Are you reverting to childhood, Tim?"

"As Bachelard said, Dad, 'like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.'"

"Oh, well done. Goethe did say that, 'Life is the childhood of our immortality.'"

Tim grinned. It was the beginning of a quote war. He sat down at the table, served himself a waffle and thought about what would come next.

"Margaret Mead. 'It is utterly false and cruelly arbitrary to put all the play and learning into childhood, all the work into middle age, and all the regrets into old age.'"

"I completely agree," Sam said. "John Milton.  
'The childhood shows the man,  
As morning shows the day. Be famous then  
By wisdom; as thy empire must extend,  
So let extend thy mind o'er all the world.'"

"'Our whole life is but a greater and longer childhood.' Benjamin Franklin."

"'Childhood is the sleep of reason,'" Sam said with a chuckle. "Rousseau."

"Uh..."

"Are you conceding?" Sam asked.

"Not yet."

Tim thought for a couple minutes, eating his waffle and then taking another one.

"'Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age  
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.  
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.  
Nobody that matters, that is.'"

Sam laughed out loud.

"Edna St. Vincent Millay."

"Okay. 'Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will.' Baudelaire."

"Why did you pick childhood as the theme? You could have picked something else from my first quote." Tim said.

"It just came to me. Are you conceding?"

"Let me think."

Tim thought and thought, but it was clear he wasn't coming up with anything. Sam grinned.

"'Childhood: the period of human life intermediate between the idiocy of infancy and the folly of youth - two removes from the sin of manhood and three from the remorse of age.'"

"Who said _that_?" Tim asked.

"Ambrose Bierce."

"Figures. There's a reason he was called Bitter Bierce."

"Indeed."

"I'm out of practice."

"We can try again."

"Not right now, Dad. That's too much quoting for now."

"I'll keep that in mind. So...what are we going to do today?"

"This is _your_ thing, Dad."

"This is _our_ thing, Tim."

"There's that lake. We could try fishing."

"It's definitely been a while since we did any of that. Are you sure you'll be okay getting on the boat?"

"Will _you_?" Tim shot back.

"Worst case scenario for me is just feeling a bit off balance. Worst case scenario for you is feeding the fish way too much."

"Ha ha. Thank you, Dad. A little boat like that on a lake? I'll be fine."

"All right. We'll both wear life jackets in case I fall out or you throw up and fall out."

"Great, Dad. Just making me want to do this even more."

"Here's one more thing. If we catch any fish, we're going to eat them. There are instructions here about how to gut and debone fish."

"I'll let _you_ do that."

"We'll _both_ do it. ...if we succeed in catching a fish."

"Okay."

They finished eating breakfast, cleaned up and then headed down to the lake. It was rough going, and Tim had to help Sam navigate his chair to the dock. The fishing poles and tackle were stored in a bin at the dock. Tim put them in the boat and then carefully got in and helped Sam in as well. They nearly capsized a couple of times before Sam was securely in the boat.

Then, Tim rowed them out into the middle of the lake. They inexpertly baited the hooks and started fishing. As they sat there, waiting for some elusive tug on the line, they started talking about everything and nothing. They flitted from subject to subject without worrying about it being important or worthwhile. To their surprise, they were out on the lake for a couple of hours without getting bored, in spite of the fact that they didn't have a single nibble on their hooks. The sun started to warm the air.

Silence fell between them and it was a comfortable silence. The silence lasted for about half an hour.

"This is a beautiful place, Dad," Tim said softly.

Sam looked over at his son. Tim wasn't looking at him. He wasn't looking at the lake. He was just staring at the world around them.

"Planning on moving out here?" he asked.

"No," Tim said and smiled. "But for a weekend..."

"I think it's beautiful, too."

Then, there was a tug on Sam's line. He raised an eyebrow at Tim who feigned horror at the prospect. Then, Tim got a tug as well.

"Oh, no. Now, we have an even better chance of having to gut a fish."

"No letting it go on purpose."

"Right, right."

They both worked on it, and to Tim's dismay, they both succeeded in landing a fish. Tim's was significantly smaller than Sam's...and neither was very large. Still, they'd both caught a fish.

"Are we really going to eat these?" Tim asked.

"We're going to try. You want to see if we can get more?"

"No. Let's go back."

Sam laughed outright.

"All right. Let's go and see what we can do."

Tim groaned and rowed them back to the dock. Getting Sam out of the boat proved more difficult than they had planned. Essentially, Tim had to lift Sam out and onto the dock. Neither of them enjoyed the experience. Then, Tim got their fish, the poles and tackle and put them away, reluctantly taking the wriggling fish into the cabin.

The process of killing and gutting the fish proved to be extremely laborious. They both tried it, and they both mangled their fish. Even so, Sam still insisted that they cook and eat the fish. Tim agreed with some reluctance but they had fun...and they also made sure that there was plenty of other things to eat that evening.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The sun had gone down. It was starting to get cold. The sky was clear.

"The stars are out, Tim."

Tim looked out.

"Is it too cold for you?"

"Well, I'm not going to be able to stay outside as long as your mother would, but I'll bundle up and you can educate me."

"I don't know if I'll remember them all," Tim said. "I haven't gone stargazing for a while."

"Good. Then, it's time to do it again."

"All right, Dad. All right."

They both bundled up, but Sam put extra layers below the waist that Tim didn't bother with. He may as well have been going out in a blizzard as opposed to a chilly spring night. They went down to the lake again. Tim started pointing out the various constellations, but after a while, they were silent again, staring up at the star-studded night sky.

Tim broke the silence.

"Dad...was there another reason you wanted to do this?"

"What do you mean, Tim?"

"Were you wanting to spend time with me because...maybe..."

"You mean am I dying?" Sam asked, infusing some amusement into his voice.

"Yeah."

"No, that's not why. It's true my lifespan was probably shortened, and that I've had more than my share of health crises, but I'm disgustingly healthy for someone in my situation, Tim. I've been careful and my doctor says that I'm fine...as long as I keep being careful. I just wanted to spend time with you, Tim. This isn't a last wish or anything like that."

"Okay."

"Stop thinking about it like that, Tim. We both know the statistics, but there are always outliers, and even if I fit the statistics, I have lots of time left."

He saw Tim nod in the darkness, and he squeezed his arm.

"All I wanted was to spend time with my son. That's it, Tim. And that's enough for me."

"Is it?"

"Absolutely. Isn't it enough for you?"

Tim looked at him. Sam couldn't see his expression, but he guessed that there was a rueful smile.

"Of course."

"Then, stop trying to find a dramatic reason for being here. We're simply a father and son enjoying a weekend away from everyone and everything that could distract us."

"Except for us."

Sam chuckled. "Granted. Now, I'm getting cold. Let's go in."

Tim helped him navigate the rough path back up to the cabin. He built up the fire to make it toasty inside, and then, they both went to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sunday dawned as cold as it had been the night before, but without the benefit of the sun. Clouds had moved in overnight and it was starting to look distinctly gray and gloomy.

Tim woke up and felt no need to move. He was quite content to lie beneath the covers and enjoy the feeling of having no responsibilities. Sure, he would need to get up eventually, but it wasn't something he _had_ to do at the moment. As he lay under the covers, staying still, hoping that his dad was still asleep, he evaluated the previous day's activities. All in all, it had been a lot of fun. After a little bit of awkwardness to start, he and his dad had not lacked conversation or things to do. He wasn't sure what they'd do that day, but he didn't care what it was. As long as they were spending time together, it wouldn't matter to him what they did.

"Are you awake, Tim?"

The voice was very soft, ready to stay quiet if Tim _was_ asleep still. Tim smiled.

"No, Dad. I'm not."

"Good. Then, stop lazing around. You have to make breakfast this morning, and it's cold in here; so you can build the fire, too."

Tim yawned, stretched and then sat up. Sam was sitting up as well, but he had his blankets tucked around him. Yes, it was a little cool in the cabin. They had not mastered the art of keeping a fire going all night long (and likely wouldn't on this trip).

"Sounds like _you're_ going to be the lazy one," Tim said as he got up.

"I earned it. I did the work yesterday. Your turn."

Tim yawned again and laughed as he thumped over to the fireplace. He knelt down and built up the fire. It rather satisfying, actually. He liked seeing the flames leap up, demonstrating that he'd managed to create a fire.

"I could get used to that," Tim said.

"To what?"

"Building a fire. I kind of like doing it."

"Good. You can do it tomorrow, too."

"Okay. What do you want for breakfast?"

Tim got to his feet and headed to the kitchen area. He looked at the options available.

"Eggs? Bacon?" he suggested.

"Sure. I'm not picky."

"Right," Tim muttered.

"I heard that."

Tim pulled the eggs and bacon out of the fridge and got out the griddle. He turned around and watched as Sam heaved himself into his wheelchair. Suppressing the omnipresent tinge of guilt, even after all these years, Tim turned back to the griddle. He would focus on breakfast and the twinge would go away. He hated that it was still there, but it was, and Tim figured it probably wouldn't go away anytime soon. It was enough that he only felt it at a fraction of the intensity of the first years after the accident.

"Scrambled or fried?" he called before the door to the bathroom closed.

"Scrambled! I don't think you could handle anything else!"

Tim grumbled although he knew his dad was right. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl and mixed them up. Then, he poured them onto the griddle and focused on keeping them from burning. He knew how to cook eggs, but he figured if he ever messed them up, it would be this time.

Thankfully, by the time Sam came out of the bathroom, Tim had the eggs done...without burning them.

He served up bacon, eggs and orange juice.

"So...what are we going to do today, Tim?" Sam asked.

Tim laughed. "This is your thing, Dad."

Sam looked out the window.

"It's kind of gloomy out there."

"Yeah, if these clouds thicken up, we might get that snow Mom was worried about."

"It's definitely not going to be warm."

Tim shook his head.

"Well, then, I vote that we stay inside and be lazy."

Tim grinned. "I'm okay with that, Dad."

"I may or may not have come prepared for such a possibility."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked with a laugh.

Sam rolled away from the table and over to his bag. He pulled a couple of books out and rolled back over.

Tim put down his fork and picked up the books.

"Robert Service poems?"

"And Robert Frost poems."

"Robert Service and Robert Frost? That's kind of random."

"I just took a couple off the shelf. I didn't really take much time to choose. Your mother was hassling me about the weather. So I decided to give in and grab something that could keep us indoors."

"We can't spend _all_ day just reading."

"We can talk, too."

"Okay."

They finished eating breakfast and then cleaned up. Tim went into the bathroom to get ready for the day. When he walked out, Sam had moved over by the fire.

"Robert Frost, Tim. First poem that comes to mind. Go!"

"Uh..." Tim wracked his brain. It had been a while since he'd had his dad quiz him on poetry. Quote wars were more common.

"Come on, Tim!"

"_Some say the world will end in fire  
__Some say in ice.  
__From what I've tasted of desire,  
__I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if it had to perish twice,  
__I think I know enough of hate  
__To say that for destruction ice is also great  
__And would suffice."_

Sam clapped.

"Well done."

"Your turn. First Robert Service poem that you've got in mind. Go!"

Sam looked at Tim with a smile.

"_If starry space no limit knows  
__And sun succeeds to sun,  
__There is no reason to suppose  
__Our earth the only one.  
_'_Mid countless constellations cast  
__A million worlds may be,  
__With each a God to bless or blast  
__And steer to destiny._

_Just think! A million gods or so  
__To guide each vital stream,  
__With over all to boss the show  
__A Deity supreme.  
__Such magnitudes oppress my mind;  
__From cosmic space it swings;  
__So ultimately glad to find  
__Relief in little things._

_For look! Within my hollow hand,  
__While round the earth careens,  
__I hold a single grain of sand  
__And wonder what it means.  
__Ah! If I had the eyes to see,  
__And brain to understand,  
__I think Life's mystery might be  
__Solved in this grain of sand." _

"I love that one," Tim said. "It's so vivid. Not like some of his other poems which are weird and funny."

"Like?"

"Your namesake, Dad. 'The Cremation of Sam McGee'."

"Good point. That one is bizarre, I grant you."

"Back to 'A Grain of Sand', though. I love what he says about limitless space and yet the meaning of it being in something as...as simple as a grain of sand."

"Something as _complex_. You can look at it both ways. The universe is as simple as a grain of sand, or the grain of sand is as complex as the universe."

Tim smiled. "You are _such_ a professor, Dad."

"Thank you."

They each took a book of poetry and started trading poems. That went on for a couple of hours. Then, Tim built up the fire again. A few flakes of snow were in the air, but not in any real accumulating amounts.

"Dad?" Tim asked from his position on the floor.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wish that you were still in the Navy?"

"I was out of the Navy before the accident, Tim."

"I know. But do you ever wish you were still in it?"

"Maybe sometimes. Why?"

Tim turned around, but stayed seated on the floor.

"When I was young..." He wasn't sure how to explain this that wouldn't sound wrong. "One of the reasons I wanted to be a part of NCIS was to...to prove that what happened when you left the Navy wasn't your fault. I heard you and Mom talking about it, and I knew how important the Navy was to you because it took so much of your time. I wanted to make it so that you could have it back."

"Tim, I lost some of my eyesight when that mission went wrong. There's no way that I could have gone back to the Navy, not unless I wanted to ride a desk...which I didn't."

"I know that now, Dad. I was young. I didn't understand what was going on, not really. I just knew that what had happened was wrong and I wanted to fix it."

"I sure hope that you didn't still feel that way when you started working for NCIS."

Tim smiled a little.

"I thought about seeing what I could find when I first got hired."

"Really? Why, Tim?"

Tim shrugged. "I could figure it out and something that had gone wrong would be right...something I _could_ fix."

Sam rolled over.

"There's nothing for you to fix, Tim. Sure, it was botched situation, but it was nothing that needed fixing."

"Oh, I know, and I never did anything about it. If I had I knew it would have been for me, really...not for you. I would have wanted to fix things for myself. It was just something I thought would make me feel better."

"Would it really?"

Tim smiled. "Probably not."

Sam leaned down and squeezed Tim's shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad that you can at least acknowledge that much."

Tim chuckled, and then, Sam got a mischievous look in his eye.

"'The timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness; and knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream.' Kahlil Gibran," Sam said.

"I knew this was coming," Tim said. "There's no way you could resist when I can't get away. You've already won once."

Sam just grinned and waited.

"'Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.' Michel de Montaigne."

"'Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going.' Tennessee Williams."

"'You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.' Stanislaw Jerzy Lec."

"'Nothing prevents happiness like the memory of happiness,'" Sam said. "Andre Gide."

"I am _so_ out of practice," Tim said. "Uh... 'Sweet is the memory of past troubles.' Cicero."

Sam laughed.

"That's no excuse. 'Footfalls echo in the memory, Down the passage which we did not take, Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden.' T.S. Eliot."

"'Some people do not become thinkers simply because their memories are too good.' Nietzsche," Tim said pointedly.

"Oh, touche, Tim." Sam placed his hand dramatically over his heart. "Sophia Loren. 'I've never tried to block out the memories of the past, even though some are painful. I don't understand people who hide from their past. Everything you live through helps to make you the person you are now.'"

"I'm out. I can't think of any more."

"Then, I'll leave you with one last quote. 'Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.' Charles R. Swindoll."

Tim laughed. "Very appropriate. You win."

"Of course, I do. The only time I should lose to you is if you'd been practicing ahead of time."

"Because that's what _you_ always do?" Tim asked.

"Of course!"

"So...what do you think? Is Mom worrying about us or partying without you?"

"Oh, she'll worry some, but she's realistic, too. She knows that we're safe up here. She'll start to worry if we're late tomorrow...and she'll never let us hear the end of it if we make her worry."

"Understood."

"Have you enjoyed yourself, Tim?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Dad, I have. Really."

"You're sure?"

Tim laughed. "Positive."

"So we won't have to wait years to do it again?"

"No. I'm glad you came up with this idea. Maybe we could make it an annual thing."

"You really want to?" Sam asked.

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I do, Dad. Maybe not to this cabin every year."

Sam chuckled. "I'm okay with that. There are other cabins."

Tim laughed in response and got to his feet. They wiled away the rest of the day, ate dinner together. Tim built up the fire and then, they went to bed. The clouds hadn't ever dissipated, but the few flakes of snow had never become anything more.

While they had both enjoyed themselves, it was time for the vacation to end.

For now, they slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim! Tim, wake up!"

Tim groaned as he heard his dad's voice. It felt really early.

"What is it, Dad?" he mumbled.

"Someone's outside, Tim. I heard them moving around."

Tim sat up in bed. The fire wasn't quite out yet.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know," Sam said in a low voice.

Tim got out of bed and walked to one of the windows. He peered out into the night. It was so dark out there that he couldn't see a thing.

He was about ask if Sam hadn't imagined it, but then, he saw something moving.

"What do we do, Tim?"

"Lock the doors and hope they don't try to get in?" Tim suggested.

Sam chuckled a little.

"I was hoping for something I couldn't think of myself."

"Sorry, Dad. No weapons. No phones. Not sure what else to do. Maybe it's just someone lost."

"Maybe."

For some reason, neither of them were seriously entertaining the idea that this was a normal situation.

Tim walked to the door and started to check the locks.

...but, unfortunately, the locks hadn't been turned.

The door burst open and before Tim could do more than move back a step, there was a heavy thunk on his head and he collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tim came to with a start. He had a hard time keeping his eyes open, and he wasn't sure exactly where he was.

"Tim?"

"Dad...what...happened?"

"You lost an argument."

"What?" That didn't make _any_ sense.

"With a gun."

"I got shot?" he mumbled.

"No. You didn't. You got hit on the head. You've been in and out for the last few hours."

"I have?"

"Yes, after being unconscious for longer than I'd like. Are you feeling any better?"

"I feel like there's an orchestra playing in my head...but it's all percussion."

Tim heard a worried chuckle.

"Since this is as coherent as you've been for a long time, I'll take it. Just relax. They're outside right now...arguing."

"They?"

"Our uninvited guests, our captors."

"Did they tell you...anything?"

"That if I was a good little boy they wouldn't kill me. They took my wheelchair."

Tim struggled to reconnect. He knew that he needed to get his brain in gear. This was serious. He could tell that much. He forced his eyes open and started to sit up. His head started spinning and he felt a hand on his arm.

"Relax, Tim."

"Right, Dad," Tim mumbled. "Someone has threatened to kill us and I'm supposed to relax?"

He heard his dad chuckle again.

"Point."

Tim got himself upright. He turned enough that his legs suddenly were dangling over the edge. So he was on a bed. He put his hands on his head and winced as he touched a particularly painful part of his head.

"What time is it?"

"It's morning. Your mother is going to kill us."

Tim laughed. "You know what? Later, I'll probably feel differently, but right now, I'd take Mom killing us to them killing us."

"Well, your mother's method isn't generally permanent."

"Yeah."

"Head clearing up at all?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Tim finally got his eyes open and looked over at his dad. He was sitting on his bed, looking worried.

"I'm glad to see your eyes really open. What are we going to do, Tim?"

"I don't know. Play it by ear for now. How many of them were there?"

"Four that I saw. I think that's all."

"Outnumbered...and obviously, they have more weapons...since they have at least one."

Sam nodded.

Tim tried to work it out in his head.

"Are they disguising themselves?" he asked, slowly. "I don't think I actually had time to see."

"No."

"Uh-oh."

"Why?"

"Because that means that they're probably going to kill us when they're done. They can't leave witnesses behind if they were willing to attack me as soon as I was in reach."

"Tim, I really hope you're wrong."

"I'll bet I'm not."

"What do we do about that?"

"I don't know...yet."

The door opened and one of their captors walked in, gun in hand.

"So you did live through your nap," the man said.

Tim glared...and then grimaced.

"That's no way to greet a guest."

"You're uninvited," Tim muttered. "Can't you give my dad his wheelchair?"

"Why would I make it easier for him to get around?"

"What do you want from us?"

"A hideout for a few hours. That's all. You help us and you'll just have a great story to tell later."

_Yeah, right,_ Tim thought. He didn't say that, however. Instead, he just closed his eyes and rubbed at his head. If they thought he was useless for anything, then, they might think that they had two helpless men on their hands. Tim had no intention of telling them that he was in law enforcement or that his dad used to be in the Navy. Better that they had no idea that there was _potential_ for rebellion.

"Relax and you'll make it easier."

_For us or for you?_ Tim thought.

The man walked over to Tim's stuff and started searching through it. He found Tim's keys.

"Thanks for the ride."

Tim glared. The man laughed at him and walked out, leaving them alone again.

"He's too confident," Tim said. "We're dead if we stay here...and now, they have my car."

"Well, Tim, I don't think I have too many options. Even if I had my wheelchair, I doubt I'd get very far in the woods and they're going to have the car on the road. You could probably get away."

"No, Dad," Tim said instantly. Headache or not, he wasn't letting that stand. "No way. I'm not leaving you here because I know what will happen to you if I do."

"Tim..."

"No. Forget it. Either we figure out a way for both of us to get out or neither of us. I'm not even going to entertain that idea. Euripides said that 'noble fathers have noble children' and I'm not going to reject that."

"Feeling better, I see?"

"I have to," Tim said. "I have to be thinking."

"And? How are you going to get me out?"

Tim smiled. "I'll think of something."

They sat together for hours, not doing much. Tim was trying to think of what they'd do to get out because Sam was right. Getting his father out without his car would be difficult...but he wouldn't give up on that. There was absolutely no way in the world that he'd leave him here.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was late in the afternoon when Gibbs' phone rang. He wasn't expecting anything, but he answered without checking who it was from.

"Gibbs."

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is Naomi McGee, Tim's mother. Have you heard from him yet?"_

"No. Should I have?"

"_Well, I guess not, but he and Sam were going to call me as soon as they had phone service so that I could start down to DC. They were supposed to be leaving this morning and I haven't heard from them. I tried calling but it won't even connect. I'm...I'm just getting worried. The point of this little trip was to force them to hang out together, but I didn't like the fact that they were going to be completely out of contact. ...and now...I'm worried. What if they had car trouble or something like that?"_

What little he knew about Naomi was that she didn't worry unnecessarily. There was a real potential for something to go wrong.

"We're closer than you are. Head to DC. I'll go and check."

"_Thank you so much, Agent Gibbs. I didn't want to ask for that. It'll make a long night for you, but..."_

"It's fine. I have another hour before I can leave, but I'll get going as soon as I can."

"_Thank you. I'll start down right now. When you find them, if they haven't called me, please let me know."_

"Will do."

Gibbs hung up and then saw Tony and Ziva looking at him.

"McGee and his dad haven't called. His mom is worried that they might be having car trouble and be without cell phones still."

"What does she want?"

"Just to know that it's okay. I'm going to drive out there in an hour."

Tony grinned. "You mean it'll only take you an hour to cover four hours' worth of distance or that you'll _start_ in an hour?"

Gibbs glared.

"We will come with you," Ziva said.

Gibbs just nodded. More people searching would likely get the search over soon. He wanted to think that Tim and Sam had just decided to stay longer and get started later, but at the same time, there _could_ be something wrong.

It was better not to risk it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The voices rose in volume. Tim looked at Sam and then stood up and crept to the door. Sam tried to stop him but didn't say anything. He didn't want them to hear and bring attention on the fact that Tim was taking a risk.

He watched as Tim kept himself out of view and started to listen to whatever they were saying. It was just an undercurrent of noise to Sam from his position, but Tim's expression was not encouraging. Whatever he was hearing wasn't getting rid of the worst-case scenario he had proposed that morning.

If Tim was right about that, the question was how long they'd wait until they killed their captives because Sam was positive that Naomi would have called someone by now. She'd be worried.

...but could they depend on the magnanimity of their captors lasting long enough?

Suddenly, Tim hurried back to the bed and sat down beside Sam.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Tim just put his finger to his mouth as the door opened. The men came in still bickering with each other.

"...and I'm not going to sit around here while you guys go off with all the gold to make contact."

"We're not taking _all_ the gold with us. We have to have some of it in reserve to make sure they'll hold up their end of the bargain. You lost the draw. You're staying here. It'll only take us an hour at most."

The man grumbled but agreed. They raided the cupboards again, as they had a few times during the day already. Sam felt Tim's tension beside him. It was almost anticipatory. He hoped Tim had a chance to _tell_ him what he was planning. Sam knew his son well enough to know when he was thinking about possibilities. Tim was going to do something...for good or ill.

After a few minutes, the men left the cabin again.

"What are you thinking, Tim?" Sam asked softly.

"That when there's only one person here, we have a chance of getting away."

"How? If they're taking _your_ car."

"We're going to go through the woods."

Sam almost laughed.

"How? I'm not suddenly going to be walking, Tim. I'm not going to make it through a forest. I'm not going to make it out the door."

"I'm going to carry you," Tim said.

Sam almost laughed out loud again.

"When the others leave, we'll get the other one in here and knock him out. Then, we'll go and get enough of a head start that they won't find us."

"Tim, you're crazy. You can't _carry_ me through the forest."

"Do you have a better idea that doesn't involve me leaving you behind? Because that's still not an option."

"No, but..."

"Dad, we're out of time and out of options. Once they're ready to move on, we're dead. They're not even bothering to hide the fact that they robbed someplace. I heard them talking out there and they've already killed at least one person. The security guard at the place they robbed. I don't want to depend on them being good-hearted and letting us go."

"You know that your mother will have called someone by now."

"But we're four hours away from the closest person she would have called...unless she looked up the police in West Virginia, but even if she did that...we can't depend on it. I'm not _willing_ to wait."

Sam could see that Tim meant what he said, and he could see the truth in it, but he didn't like the idea of depending on his son to _carry_ him.

"So...how are we going to do this?" Sam asked.

Tim smiled at his capitulation.

"Once the others are gone, we get him in here and then hit him on the head."

"He's not likely to get that close. He'll be on his guard."

"I know. That's why I'm going to goad him...and then you'll hit him." Tim snuck to the fireplace and got a charred log which he carried back to the bed and covered with the pillow.

"That's risky."

"Yep."

Tim turned toward the door, and Sam heard the car driving away. Tim looked at his father and raised an eyebrow before getting to his feet.

"Hey! You guys out there!"

There was a period of silence.

"Hey! Come on! Give my dad back his wheelchair! He needs to go to the bathroom!"

Sam suppressed a chuckle.

"How do you think he'll get there without his chair? You want us to deal with him wetting his pants or do you think he should just urinate on the floor?"

Sam looked at Tim who grinned. Sam was surprised that Tim could talk like this. It certainly felt fake to him. And Tim _kept_ talking for about five minutes without repeating anything until finally, the door opened.

"Shut up!" the man said.

"My dad needs his wheelchair," Tim said, getting to his feet.

"Look. He's not getting his chair. We won't be here for much longer. I don't care if he pees on the floor."

The cabin wasn't large, and Tim got close enough to suddenly lash out with his long leg. He kicked the man's gun hand and the weapon went flying. Tim didn't bother to go for the gun. He lunged at the man. Sam was surprised at how well Tim was doing in the fight. He just wasn't used to thinking of his son that way.

Tim managed to get the man closer and closer to Sam who pulled out the log. He hadn't really been involved in this kind of thing for years.

The man had his back to Sam, and he was starting to get the best of Tim. Sam lifted the log and brought it down onto the man's head as hard as he could. The man fell to the floor...on _top_ of Tim. Tim got out from under him and looked around the room quickly.

"Where's some rope or something?"

"Fishing line," Sam said.

Tim smiled and ran out of the cabin. He was gone for all of thirty seconds and then was back. He pulled the man's hands behind him and tied the fishing line around htem. Then, he did the same for the man's feet.

The man started to wake up. His first words were not ones Sam would have accepted from anyone in his family. Tim rolled his eyes and then took some socks and shoved them into the man's mouth.

"If I had time, I'd wash your mouth out with soap," Sam said.

Tim laughed.

"Okay. We've got to go now," he said.

"We'd better get some water," Sam said.

Tim nodded. He also grabbed the gun before grabbing their coats and gloves and bringing them over. Sam quickly bundled up as well as he could. He'd be getting cold if they were out all night.

"Okay, Dad. How do you want to do this?"

"I think that I'd better just get on your back, Tim. There is no way that you're going to carry me like a bride over the threshold."

Tim laughed again. "Okay, Dad. Climb on."

Gritting his teeth, Sam leaned forward and grabbed hold of Tim, wrapping his arms around Tim's neck. He made sure he was holding on in such a way that he wouldn't choke his son. Tim grunted a little bit as he straightened and held on to Sam's useless legs.

"Okay. Here we go, Dad."

"Lead on."

Tim hurried out the door of the cabin, down to the lake and started to jog into the trees. They had escaped.

For now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"What if McGee and McGee Senior just decided to hang out a little longer and we pass them on the way?" Tony asked.

"You didn't have to come, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"I'm just pointing it out."

"Well, don't."

"Okay, okay."

"I hope that is all it is," Ziva said. "I can see some snow in the air and if they are having car trouble or some other kind of trouble, I am sure they would find it...unpleasant."

"At best. Probie could be chewing off his own leg in his desperation to get back to civilization," Tony said with a grin.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was breathing heavily, and he could see his breath with every exhalation. It was cold out here, but he wasn't feeling it much yet. He was too tired. Tim had started out jogging, but that hadn't lasted. He was now walking (as quickly as he could) and had been for more than an hour.

"Tim, you're not sounding very good. Let's take a break. My arms are getting tired, anyway."

Tim smiled a little, but he couldn't deny that he needed a rest. Even though his dad's legs were atrophied from years of disuse, even though he weighed less than Tim did, he was still a heavy weight on Tim's back, and that was not the kind of running he was used to.

Gladly, he stopped and lowered his dad to the ground. Then, he dropped to the ground himself, feeling the ache in his back.

"Regretting your decision, Tim?"

Tim let out a cloud of foggy breath and laughed.

"Nope. Not at all. I just wish I'd done more bodybuilding exercises. When we get back, I'm going to take up trail running...with a hundred pounds on my back."

"I don't think this will come up again, Tim," Sam said with a chuckle.

"I hope not." Then, Tim's mind registered that it was actually pretty cold out. "How are _you_ doing, Dad? Cold?"

"Yeah."

Tim sat up and crawled over to his dad. He sat down by his feet, pulled off the shoes and then started rubbing his dad's feet and legs. Sam didn't protest. This was a necessity. It wasn't about being nice. It was about keeping Sam from losing limbs. It didn't matter if he couldn't walk. Amputation was _never_ a good thing. There were a few snowflakes in the air and it was cold. He rubbed until he figured that he had got the circulation going again.

That meant it was time to start thinking about moving on. Tim didn't want to move on. He was still tired, but at the same time, he'd like being dead a whole lot less.

"Ready to move on, Dad?" he asked.

"Are you? I just have to hold on and my hands are ready for that."

"Then, I think we should get going because I don't want to just sit here and wait for them to find us."

"Okay. Let's go. You're the legs. It has to be your choice."

Tim nodded. He maneuvered so that Sam could grab hold again and he groaned as he stood up.

"Sounds bad, Tim."

Tim chuckled.

"You're no lightweight, Dad. I think you should lose some weight."

Sam laughed.

"My doctor would disagree with you."

"Your doctor doesn't have to carry you."

"So noted. Next time we go on a father-son outing, I'll make sure my weight is at a manageable level."

"Good. You do that."

Tim started off through the woods again. It was night. It was cold. He was tired.

...but they had no other choice right now. So as the first flakes began to fall, Tim threaded his way through the trees, feeling the weight of his father on his back, hoping that he could keep them out of danger even though he didn't know where he was or where he was headed...beyond _away_.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I haven't seen any sign of his car," Tony said. "Ziva?"

"No. I have not, either."

They had reached the same cell phone dead zone that Tim and Sam had been in for the entire weekend. They had taken a sat phone, but they wouldn't be able to call Tim anyway.

"Where's the turnoff?" Gibbs asked.

"It should be...coming up anytime now," Tony said, looking at the map. "On the right. ...I think."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but another mile down the road and there was a small turnoff. He took it. It was a narrow road with trees giving a tunnel-like effect.

"Wow. This is where McGee was spending the weekend? I can't even imagine," Tony said.

"He is a scout," Ziva said.

"Yeah, well, I hope there's no poison ivy around here."

"It is too early in the season for poison ivy."

Silence fell.

"I hate not having the radio," Tony said.

"You wouldn't be picking the station, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, I figured."

Another silent passage of time.

"Wait...is that it? The cabin?" Ziva asked, pointing ahead.

"Looks like that's McGee's car," Tony said.

They pulled up and then got out of the car. Instantly, they saw something that made the whole thing seem a lot more serious.

"Is that not his father's wheelchair?" Ziva asked.

Sure enough, on its side just in the trees by the cabin was a wheelchair.

Tony looked at Ziva and then pulled out his gun. Ziva and Gibbs followed suit.

They walked silently up to the door, switching into agent mode. They were no longer checking up on a delinquent friend. They were confronting a possible crime scene.

Gibbs took point. After they scouted around the outside of the cabin, he sent Tony and Ziva to the back door. After a minute, he kicked in the door.

"Federal agents!" he shouted.

Tony and Ziva echoed, but when the light was on, what they saw was the last thing they'd expected.

They saw a dead man in the middle of the room. His hands and feet were tied with fishing line and he'd been shot.

And Tim and his father were _not_ there.

"Boss...what now?" Tony asked. "We can call for help, but...where are they and how much time will we lose by spending it here?"

"Who is this man and why has he been killed?"

"And who killed him?"

"The why doesn't matter right now," Gibbs said. "We need to find McGee and his father. They're not in his car. Mr. McGee doesn't have his wheelchair."

"So either he was taken out in another car or else...carried or..."

"Or he is dead," Ziva said.

"Let's find out," Gibbs said.

They got to work, trying to determine what had happened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was dark, and Tim was walking slowly now as he tried to thread his way through the trees. He wasn't sure he knew where he was at all, but he had to keep moving as long as humanly possible because, when pursuit came, they'd be moving a lot faster than he was.

Perhaps, it was inevitable.

Tim took a wrong step, hit a tree root and was too tired to keep himself upright. Both he and his father tumbled to the ground...with Tim on bottom. Tim hit the ground hard with his dad crushing him from above.

"Ow...Dad...you're squashing me," Tim grunted.

Sam rolled off Tim and tried to get out of the way.

"You're the one who tripped. Remember?" he said with a little bit of levity.

Tim felt no such lightness. He hurt too much.

"Ow," he said, slowly getting to his hands and knees.

He crawled to the nearest tree and then leaned against it and arched his back painfully. He looked at his legs and, even in the darkness, he could see the rip in his pants at both knees. He could also feel the blood starting to run down his legs.

"You all right, Tim?"

"I'll survive...but let's take a few minutes' break, okay?"

"Sure."

Sam pulled himself over beside Tim.

"I hate to ask you to do anything right now, Tim, but..."

"Your feet?"

"The rest of me is cold," Sam said. "I can't imagine that my legs will be any different."

Tim nodded and pulled his dad's feet over. He pulled off Sam's shoes and, yes, they were definitely cold. He started rubbing them to warm them up. Sam was nice enough to let him sit where he could rest his back while he rubbed. After he was satisfied that Sam's feet and legs were warm enough, he leaned back against the tree and let his eyes drift closed. He was really tired. He dozed off a few times, but his waking moments were less pleasant, and he was more than happy to return to dreamland.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim?"

The voice was intruding on some pleasant sleep.

"Tim, I think it's time to wake up."

"Five more minutes..."

A chuckle.

"You're not in high school, Tim, and you need to wake up."

Tim struggled to open his eyes and realized it was dark and cold.

"Where are we?"

"In the middle of the forest, Tim. Remember?"

Tim got his eyes open and looked around. Trees, forest...and a very hard ground.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, trying to get the cobwebs out of his head.

"About half an hour. I'd let you sleep longer, but I'm not sure that it's a good idea to fall asleep in the cold."

Tim nodded and felt a headache.

"Just give me a minute to wake myself up, Dad."

"I'm not really in a position to dictate at the moment."

Tim smiled.

"Right." He yawned. "Okay."

He got to his feet and tried to hide the ache in his back. How much was due to the fall and how much just to the strain of carrying his dad around on his back?

"Okay," he said again.

"Ready?" Sam asked from the ground.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

"You sure of that?" Sam asked, knowingly.

"Yeah. I've committed us to this...and we can't change our minds now...if for no other reason than that...I don't know how to get us back."

Sam laughed.

"Sounds like a plan. You raise me up, Tim."

"Oh, Dad. Don't start that. Not now," Tim groaned and bent over to pick him up.

They started on their way again. Tim stepped more carefully to be sure that he didn't fall again. He wasn't sure he could take another tumble like that.

"Tim, while you were sleeping, I figured out what our situation is."

"What?" Tim asked. "Or do I not want to know?"

He could feel his dad's laughter as well as hear it.

"'There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold.'"

"Oh, no, Dad. Not that. That doesn't fit! Not at all!"

"What's the name of that poem, son?" Sam asked.

"Dad."

"What's the name?" Sam asked again in his best professor voice.

"The Cremation of Sam McGee," Tim said, making his voice as leaden as possible.

"It fits. Admit it."

"I'm not cremating you, Dad."

"I would hope not, but if you had matches, I wouldn't mind a fire."

"Can't...even if I _had_ matches...which I don't."

"The similarities don't stop with my name. I'm cold."

"You're not from Tennessee," Tim panted.

"No, but I don't like the cold and it's definitely not good for me."

"You're not dead."

"You're carrying me."

"He was lashed to a sled."

"'_Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.  
__In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.  
__In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,  
__Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing. _

_And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;  
__And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;  
__The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;  
__And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin._'"

"I'm not singing to you, Dad."

"Stop being so prosaic."

"I don't like the implications, Dad."

"It's a silly poem, Tim. There are no implications."

There was a pause and then, Sam loosened his hold for just a moment and squeezed Tim's shoulder.

"You're doing a great job, Tim. I wish I could help out, but I can't. So I have to make up for it by talking."

Tim sighed.

"I just wish that I knew I was really making the right decision. What if I was wrong?"

"You weren't. No. I agree that they wouldn't just let us go. You're doing a great job."

"I don't know where we're going."

"Away, Tim. We're going away. That's good enough for me."

"Unless we're going around in circles."

"We're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because you haven't tripped over the branch again yet."

Tim laughed tiredly.

"I guess so."

"Keep going, Tim. We've got to hit somewhere _eventually_."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Now, finish it."

"_Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;  
__It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."  
__And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;  
__Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."_

Tim was panting tiredly as he walked through the forest, but he kept it up, speaking softly.

Suddenly, though, there was another sound...something that was not coming from him. He stopped moving and stopped speaking.

"Tim...what–?"

"Sh. Quiet, Dad," Tim whispered.

A twig snapped.

"They're coming," he said. "We're not going to get away."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"No giving up now, Tim," Sam said sternly.

"I'm...I'm out of ideas," Tim said. "We can't go fast enough to get away and I'll make too much noise if I try to run. ...and I'm not leaving you behind anyway." He leaned against a tree tiredly.

"I won't waste time trying to convince you to leave me, but you've got a gun this time," Sam said. "They don't know where we are yet. We have time. Think, Tim. There has to be something we can do other than give up."

Tim set Sam on the ground and sat with a quiet thump. He tried to think around his aching head and body to get to an idea that had any chance of succeeding.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Which way now?" Tony asked. "You two are supposed to be the expert trackers."

Gibbs and Ziva were looking around a clearing to find something that would give a hint of where to go. They were in the middle of nowhere, but Tony had thought to get a GPS so they at least had a chance of getting back.

"This way," Gibbs said, pointing off into the trees. "They rested here and then moved on."

"...and so did someone else, although I am not sure how well they were tracking them."

"You're sure it's _them_?" Tony asked.

"Signs of two people here," Gibbs said.

"Yeah and no way is McGee leaving his dad behind," Tony said. "Unless he was dead."

"No body. We're assuming they're both out here," Gibbs said.

"Right. Then, let's find them."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim exhaled heavily and watched his breath become a little cloud before it dissipated into the cold night air.

"Okay..." He thought hard for a few seconds. Suddenly, he smiled. "You ready for a special performance, Dad?"

"I'm intrigued."

"Let's go just a little farther. I see a better spot."

"Better for what?"

"For a distraction."

"And that's me?"

Tim grinned.

"No. That's me."

"I don't think that I'm going to be running anywhere, Tim. There are some logistical problems."

"You won't have to. Trust me."

Sam looked uncertain, but he nodded.

"Tell me what to do, then."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"They went this way," Hugh said softly.

"I can't believe that idiot screwed this up! An old man in a wheelchair and a guy with a concussion! All he had to do was stay on watch for an hour."

"Well, he won't make that mistake again," Hugh said. "And that means a bigger share for us."

"Maybe we should just forget them. We can get away now," Jon said. He hated the forest and had complained almost nonstop while they'd been tracking their escaped captives.

"Yeah, and have our faces on every police bulletin when they get away and give descriptions of us. Great idea. We can't get out of the country for at least 24 hours."

"Shut up, you two!" Hugh said. "I heard something. Just up ahead."

Hugh walked forward through the dark woods. They had flashlights, but they were being careful about using them. They didn't want to give themselves away. It was cold out here. He _hated_ the cold. Going up to West Virginia had been a necessity to throw off the trail and meet with their buyers, but he wanted to get on a plane and head for some sunny clime down south. ...with no extradition. No paraplegic and his son were going to take that away from him.

"_...strange things done in the midnight sun  
__By the men who moil for gold;  
__The Arctic trails have their secret tales  
__That would make your blood run cold;  
__The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,  
__But the queerest they ever did see  
__Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge  
__I cremated Sam McGee"_

Someone reciting poetry? Hugh became suspicious. He edged forward carefully...paused and looked down.

"Blood," he said softly. He looked at the spot. "Not enough for something serious, but it looks like he must be hurting."

"Which one? I didn't see any sign of the guy in the wheelchair."

"I don't know. Either way, this blood is pretty fresh. They can't be far away."

He pulled out his gun. The others followed suit. This was their chance to get rid of the last obstacles to their plan. One murder rap was pretty much the same as multiple murders, especially since the first one was in law enforcement.

He could still hear snatches of someone speaking. He gestured for Jon to stay hidden while he and Arlen crept toward the voice. In a small clearing, the son was sitting beneath a tree, listless and pale in the darkness. His eyes were closed and he was reciting a poem.

"...how I hated the thing..."

No sign of the father anywhere. But he was a cripple. What was_ he_ going to do? Maybe the son had left him somewhere. And if they got the son, they'd get the father by default. It was cold tonight and who in their right minds would be hiking at this time of the year?

He stepped into the clearing, flashlight in one hand, gun out.

"I couldn't agree more," he said.

The son opened his eyes...and smiled.

"Then 'Here,' said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

There was a sound just to the side. Hugh spun to confront the sound. Ready to fire.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That was gunfire," Tony said. "From over there."

As one, Gibbs, Tony and Ziva pulled out hteir guns and headed in the direction of the sound. Then, as they got closer, they could hear someone speaking.

"No, no. Don't... Here, I'm putting it down."

"Don't do it, Dad. Keep it on him."

"I'll shoot him! If you don't put the gun down right now!"

That spurred them on.

"If he dies, you do, too, old man. You're not getting out of here alone. No one will find you in the middle of the woods."

They burst into a small clearing.

"Think again, dirt bag," Gibbs said.

The scene that greeted them was almost comical. Sam was lying on the ground, gun pointed at another man. Tim was leaning against a tree, looking like he was just taking a rest or something. Two bodies on the ground and the man armed with a gun, pointed at Tim.

"Drop it," Gibbs said with more than a little menace.

The man didn't move for a second.

"I won't ask again."

"Who are you?"

"Federal agents for one thing," Gibbs said. He raised his gun.

"I think he wants you to drop the gun," Tony said helpfully.

"It would be a good idea to listen to him," Ziva said. "We are not very patient."

The man was clearly ambivalent, but he lowered his gun and slowly put it on the ground.

"Ziva, cuff him."

"It's a long way back to the car, Boss," Tony said.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Just pointing it out. You okay, McGee?"

Tim nodded wearily.

"Dad?" he asked and looked at Gibbs. "He gets cold easily."

Ziva was cuffing the only surviving pursuer and so Tony walked over to Tim. Gibbs checked to verify that the other two were really dead. One had been shot in the head. The other had two shots in the center of the chest.

"Nice shot," Gibbs said, looking at Sam who had set the gun on the ground.

"I'm cold, Agent Gibbs," he said, quietly. "Do you think someone could loan me an extra layer? And my feet are more than likely worse."

Tim brushed aside Tony's concern and crawled over to his dad. It was almost as though neither of them were really paying attention to anyone except each other. Tim drew himself onto his knees and carefully pulled off Sam's shoes. Then, he started rubbing them. Sam covered Tim's hands with his own.

"It was a good plan, Tim."

Tim smiled weakly. "Better than cremating you."

Gibbs couldn't decipher that one, but Sam understood and chuckled.

"Get me someplace warm and I might agree with you."

"I hope I don't have to carry you, Dad. I'm tired." He looked up, acknowledging Gibbs for the first time. "I don't have to carry him back, do I?"

Gibbs could see that Tim was barely ready to carry his own weight, let alone someone else's. In spite of what he'd implied, he wasn't going to make Tim walk back the ten miles he'd managed to cover, carrying his father on his back. He pulled out his phone (the sat phone Tim had been tempted to take) and was glad to see that there was service, even out in the middle of the woods.

"None of us are walking back, McGee," he said.

Tim looked more than relieved. He leaned against Sam and closed his eyes.

"Good." That was all he said.

Gibbs called Abby, had her trace their exact location and then give it to the local search and rescue as well as the police. This was a crime scene, even out in the forest. If they were lucky, there would be a road close by, even an old logging road or something. Otherwise, they'd get Tim and Sam out via helicopter at least.

"Tim, how's your head?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Tim said, without opening his eyes.

"You got hit on the head, Probie?" Tony asked. "When?"

"Last night...or early this morning," Sam said when Tim seemed uninclined to answer. "I was worried that he wouldn't wake up at first."

Gibbs knelt in front of Tim.

"McGee, open your eyes."

Tim did so, but slowly. Gibbs shined his flashlight in Tim's eyes. Tim made a noise of protest, but Gibbs could see Tim had a concussion. His pupils contracted only slowly in reaction to the light.

"Stay awake, McGee. You've got a concussion and I don't want to risk it getting worse."

"If it was getting worse, wouldn't it be worse already, Boss?" Tim asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. It's not worth the risk."

"Says you," Tim grumbled, but he straightened a bit and kept his eyes open. He went back to rubbing Sam's feet until Sam put his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"They're fine now, Tim."

"Don't want you getting too cold," Tim said. "How long will it take them to get here? Maybe we shouldn't wait."

"Just stay put, McGee," Gibbs said, firmly. "They'll get here." In his head, he was thinking that there had better not be much delay.

While they waited, Tony and Ziva began checking the bodies as much as they could without touching them. Gibbs set about making a fire. There weren't many predators left in West Virginia, but with two dead bodies and six live ones, it seemed better not to take the risk. He built the fire nearest to Sam so that he could stay warm, given that Tim seemed so worried about that.

Sam was clearly more worried about his son than himself, and his eyes were on Tim, making sure he stayed awake. After putting their suspect back in Ziva's care, Gibbs sat down beside Tim.

"Okay, Tim, tell me what happened. Who are these guys and why were they after you?"

It seemed that whatever adrenaline had been keeping him going had worn off and Tim wasn't focusing as well as he had been.

"Tim!" Gibbs said sharply.

Tim shook himself and focused.

"They weren't after us, not really. They were on the run, some big robbery."

"Of?"

"Gold, they said. They had buyers they were supposed to be meeting up with. They needed someplace to hide. They found us. They were going to kill us and we had seen them. They couldn't let us get away."

"Which of you killed the man in the cabin?" he asked.

"Neither of us," Tim said. "We left him tied up, sucking on some dirty socks."

Gibbs looked at Sam for confirmation.

"That's right, Agent Gibbs. He was unhappy but very much alive when we left him."

"They must have killed him for letting us get away," Tim said.

Gibbs looked over at their suspect who had gone mute. This could wait until later, but he'd seen the news of the robbery and murder. Only one of the thieves was alive to take the fall. That meant he could give information about their buyers.

"What now, Agent Gibbs?"

"We wait."

Sam nodded and put his arm around Tim, who still seemed a little dazed. They all kept an eye on their prisoner, but their minds were more on Tim and Sam. What bad luck. A simple weekend away and it had come to this.

It took more than an hour, but the choppers found them and set down in a clearing not far away. Tim and Sam went first to the hospital, although both protested that they didn't need a hospital, just a rest in a bed. Gibbs remembered at the last minute to tell them to call Naomi.

Only then did he turn his attention to the crime scene. The FBI would take over, of course. The robbery was big enough that they had control of the investigation that also went across state lines. Sure, Gibbs could fight it, but he lose. The Navy link was too weak. He didn't see the point in fighting a battle he'd lose and didn't need anyway.

Nope. Time to wrap this one up. They left the scene in the hands of the WVSP and then hauled their prisoner away, calling the FBI as they left so that they could hand him off with the stipulation that the charges of kidnapping, assault and attempted murder were added to the others. All in all, it could have been worse. They were lucky.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sam hung up the phone and looked over at Tim. He was asleep, although it wouldn't be for long. The doctor had decided that, until they got a chance to give Tim an MRI, they weren't going to risk anything going wrong. As soon as they'd let him, he'd fallen asleep, after being assured that Sam hadn't suffered any serious injury. He hadn't, and he was glad of it. Now, Tim was able to focus on himself for a little while. Thankfully, in spite of the hard knock, the doctor hadn't acted like he expected anything serious. Still, Sam would be much happier to see his son awake and not loopy.

Naomi had been more than a little relieved to hear from him and she'd be here in not too long.

In the meantime, Sam watched his son sleep. It hadn't been exactly how he'd planned the weekend going. The first part had been perfect, but the end? Well, while he had occasionally wished that he could go hiking again, his son carrying him on his back for ten miles hadn't been on his wish list.

Still, it could have been much worse. Tim's concussion was bad, but he'd recover. Sam had mostly adjusted to the restrictions of being in a wheelchair, but he had never felt so helpless as when he had been forced to watch his son being knocked out and then dumped on the bed. And all that time waiting for some sign that his son would recover.

As he watched his son sleep, Sam's mind shifted from that to something he hadn't done in years.

He'd killed someone. He didn't regret the deaths of those men who had threatened his son, who had killed before, who had stolen. It was just that...it had been so long since he'd handled a weapon. He couldn't deny that Tim's idea had been a good one, and at the time, he hadn't even thought about it. It was _after_ having killed another man.

Tim stirred, interrupting Sam's thoughts.

"Tim?"

"I'll skip the fishing today, Dad," Tim mumbled.

Sam chuckled.

"No fishing. We're not in the cabin anymore, Tim. Remember?"

Tim's eyes were very heavy-lidded but they opened. He looked around.

"Where are we?" he asked thickly.

"The hospital, Tim."

"Oh...yeah...I remember."

Tim tried to sit up but gave up after only a few seconds. His head lolled around a little bit as he tried to wake up.

"Take your time. There's no rush."

"My head feels like it's full of...cotton stuffing. I didn't feel like this in the forest."

"I think the adrenaline might have had something to do with that."

"Oh." He shifted position and winced. "My back is killing me."

"I'm sorry about that."

Tim's eyes opened.

"Not your fault, Dad. It was mine, if anything. My bright idea to go running through the forest..." He tried to move again and groaned. "I'm never moving again."

Sam smiled. It was good to hear Tim talking normally, even if he was still a little slow.

"You'll have to move eventually."

Tim shook his head.

"No, Dad. I'm never going to move again."

"Yes, you will, but I won't make you move right now."

"Good."

Tim shifted a little bit more and then exhaled loudly.

"How are _you_ doing, Dad?"

"I'm fine."

Tim opened his eyes and looked at Sam more carefully.

"Are you sure?"

Sam smiled.

"_I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;  
__But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;  
__I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.  
__I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. _

_And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;  
__And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.  
__It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—  
__Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."_

Tim laughed a little, but then, he still had to ask.

"No problems with the cold?"

"None. You did a good job of keeping me warm enough."

"And now?"

"Now, I'm nice and toasty. They're only keeping me here as a precaution."

"Is there something else, then?"

"What else?" Sam asked.

"I don't know...but...you seem a little...bothered."

Sam debated whether or not he should lay an additional problem at his son's feet, but if Tim was aware enough to see that he was troubled, trying to hide it would only make him more worried. Tim had a bad habit of assuming the worst when it came to his father.

"I killed two men last night, Tim," he said. "That's not something I've had to do for a long time. I forgot how it feels...and I think I'd like to forget it again."

Tim did push himself more upright that time.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I really...didn't...even think about that."

"Don't worry. I didn't, either. I'll be fine. It's just a little bit of a...shock to think about."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm very sure, Tim. You had a good idea because they wouldn't have expected me to be dangerous, but they would expect it of you. It was a good way to keep them distracted. I don't think I could have come up with a better idea myself, even back when I was in the Navy."

Tim still seemed bothered by the idea that he might have caused some discomfort.

"Tim, I promise. I don't regret what happened. It's just going to take some time to adjust to it."

They didn't get a chance to talk anymore because the door to the shared room opened, revealing Naomi. She didn't give either of them an opportunity to say anything. Instead, she hurried in and silently hugged them both. Then, she sat down by Sam and looked at them.

"You two..."

"It wasn't in our plans, Naomi," Sam said. "Cross my heart. We weren't happy about it, either."

Naomi actually looked a little teary which was unusual for her. She hugged Sam tightly again.

"I'm sure you weren't. Are you both okay?"

"We'll be fine," Sam said. "Really, all we needed was a rest."

"And I'm never moving again," Tim said with a smile that was a little forced.

"What happened?"

"Your son decided he wanted to give me an extended piggyback ride."

"How extended?"

"I believe that Agent Gibbs said we made it about ten miles."

"Ten miles?"

"I'm never moving again," Tim said. "My back aches."

"To go along with your head."

Naomi reached over and hugged Tim and kissed him on the top of his head.

"You two must have the worst luck of anyone in the world," Naomi said. "I don't know what I'd have done..."

Tim suddenly looked bothered. Sam didn't push it while Naomi was there. She fussed over them both for a while. Then, she said she'd let them sleep and be back later. After she left, Sam looked at Tim.

"What is it, Tim?"

"Nothing," Tim said softly. "I'm just tired. I think that..."

"Tim."

Tim looked at Sam and then down at the bed.

"What is it?"

"Bad luck," Tim said. "You and me..."

And Sam got it.

"This ended a lot better than the last time."

Tim nodded and smiled a little. "I know that...and I'm trying not to, but..."

Sam wished the beds were closer together. Tim looked forlorn.

"I know, Tim. I hate that this weekend ended so badly. I had really high hopes...that maybe you and I could stop with the blame and the guilt...finally. But..."

"The best laid plans..." Tim whispered.

"'Happiness can only exist in acceptance.' George Orwell," Sam said.

"'Just do what must be done. This may not be happiness, but it is greatness.' George Bernard Shaw," Tim said in reply.

"'When what we are is what we want to be. That's happiness.' Malcolm Forbes."

"Nathaniel Hawthorne. 'Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.' ...and if you do another one, Dad, I can't think of any more. My head is still really thick."

Sam smiled. "I'll leave you with a Sanskrit proverb, then. 'Yesterday is but a dream, tomorrow but a vision. But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well, therefore, to this day. Such is the salutation to the dawn.'"

"Nice, Dad. I'm really not trying to...be difficult about this."

"I know. If it makes you feel any better, Tim, this is my fault since I'm the one who dragged you out there."

"It doesn't."

Sam chuckled. "I know. But it wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine, either. So both of us need to not worry about that and just accept that we had some bad timing. And do you know what the only solution is?"

"What?" Tim asked.

"To go on another trip and have it go perfectly. Then, we'll know that we're not jinxed."

Tim laughed a little. "Dad...the first time, you got paralyzed. The second time, we both almost got killed. If we try again, we might end up destroying the planet."

Sam laughed, too, but then, he got serious. "But you saved us, both times, and I have complete confidence in you to do it again, if necessary."

"I don't remember."

"I know you don't, but it's true. You got out of the car and found help after the accident. Who knows how long it would have taken for them to get to us? And last night, you carried me for ten miles, on your back. No matter how much pain it gave you, and you came up with the idea that got us out."

"Not quite. He would have got us if Gibbs and Tony and Ziva hadn't found us."

"Doesn't matter. Please don't let this become a reason to avoid me, again, Tim. You've been reluctant to spend time with me because of all the mess of my paralysis. I've missed out on too many opportunities as it is, and I promised myself that I'm not going to miss out on any more. Got it?"

Tim nodded. He leaned back again.

"Just promise me one thing, Dad."

"What's that?"

"Next time...we go somewhere with a working phone."

Sam laughed. "I promise. ...maybe."

Tim laughed and then groaned.

"But remember that I'm not ever moving again."

"I remember. Go to sleep, son. You'll feel better."

"Will I?"

"Well, not for a few days, but that's okay."

"Says you."

"Yep. Says me. Your father is ordering you to sleep."

Tim nodded.

"I'm okay with that, Dad. Good night...or morning...or whatever."

Tim closed his eyes and painfully leaned back on the bed. In a few minutes, he was asleep. In fact, he was snoring. Sam watched his son sleeping again and smiled. They'd both get through this.

...and in the meantime, since he didn't feel very tired at the moment, Sam started to plan their next excursion.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Three months later..._

"Are you sure about this, McGee?" Tony asked. "It didn't go so well last time."

Tim smiled. "It started well. It just didn't end well."

"And so you will try again?"

Tim nodded. "Yep. Only this time..." He held up a sat phone.

Tony laughed. "You got him to agree?"

"Dad was surprised I didn't sneak one in last time. He gave me permission this time."

"Then, you're all prepared."

Tim grinned and nodded. He looked at Gibbs who nodded in return.

"Have fun," he said.

"Thanks, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One day later..._

"I've thought of the perfect poem, Tim," Sam said from his perch by the lakeside.

"No more cremating," Tim said. He'd been lying on his back, staring up at the puffy white clouds in the sky. "It's summer now and not even _you_ could possibly be cold."

"No, we've had enough of strange things done. I'm finished with that."

Tim looked over and squinted in the sunlight. It wasn't direct because the sun was headed toward the western horizon, but it was bright enough that he couldn't just stare.

"What, then?"

_I count each day a little life,  
__With birth and death complete;  
__I cloister it from care and strife  
__And keep it sane and sweet._

_With eager eyes I greet the morn,  
__Exultant as a boy,  
__Knowing that I am newly born  
__To wonder and to joy._

_And when the sunset splendors wane  
__And ripe for rest am I,  
__Knowing that I will live again,  
__Exultantly I die._

Sam paused and looked at Tim expectantly. It took some doing, but Tim managed to pull the final stanza out of the deep recesses of his mind.

_O that all Life were but a Day  
__Sunny and sweet and sane!  
__And that at Even I might say:  
_"_I sleep to wake again."_

Tim looked back up at the sky. They were back at the cabin by the lake. They'd fished and lazed about without much care. So far, it had been perfect. Tim thought about the poem. One of Robert Service's serious poems.

"That fits. Life is sunny and sweet and sane. ...for now."

Sam laughed. "Yes. For now. That's enough for me...but if it comes to that again..."

"I don't think we can top the strange things from last time. Let's hope for sane and sweet instead," Tim said.

Sam saluted Tim with a canteen of water. Then, they let silence fall again. With the poem in his head again, Tim considered the first and final stanza. No, his father hadn't been cremated, but he would venture to say that there weren't too many moments that could have been stranger than what they had done to get away from the men who would have killed them.

"Strange things done," Tim said softly.

"Not this time," Sam said.

"Good."

FINIS!


End file.
